


If You Promise Not to Fade Away

by Tierfal



Series: Starlight [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist (2003), Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist the Movie: Conqueror of Shamballa, Crossover, Fix-It, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-25
Updated: 2013-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 20:15:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/654010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tierfal/pseuds/Tierfal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The concept of normalcy no longer exists, and that's the way Alfons likes it.</p><p>[Major <b>spoilers</b> for '03/CoS and DW S3.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	If You Promise Not to Fade Away

**Author's Note:**

> SHAY'S FAULT. [ALL SHAY'S FAULT](http://i219.photobucket.com/albums/cc157/tierfal/shaaaaaaaay.jpg).
> 
> Also be sure to discover Shay's responsibility for [the fact that Jack's is even here](http://tierfal.tumblr.com/post/41261832658/seaghdhasuil-tierfal-i-wanna-see-how).
> 
> What is my life. :| Let me know if there are embarrassing typos; I'm exhausted. X'D

“Flick your wrist,” Hughes says.  “Smoothly, smoothly— _there_ you go.”

Jack’s eyes light up as the polaroid slips out of the sleeve of his coat, and he catches it in his fingertips.  “Hey, _hey_!”

Hughes whoops, and Alfons applauds.  The Doctor rolls his eyes, but Alfons catches him grinning before he turns back to the console.

That’s when all the screens flash red, a siren blares, and the whole ship pitches wildly to the right.

Alfons catches one of the coral pillars with both arms as the momentum hurls him towards the door; he clings to it and struggles to get his bearings as the Doctor hangs tenaciously onto the edge of the console, banging his fist down on a series of buttons.

“Jack!” the Doctor shouts.  “Your fault!”

Jack’s voice emanates from somewhere behind the jump seat.  “Not my fault!”

The soles of the Doctor’s trainers squeal as gravity tries to drag him away from his post.  “Always your fault!”

Hughes, glasses askew, pops his head around another of the pillars.  “Sometimes it’s my fault!”

“I must be mad,” the Doctor says.  “I’ve got one dead man from a parallel universe, one dead man from _this_ universe, and one man who _can’t_ die.  Sigmund is going to crack a rib laughing at me next time we have a coffee.”

Alfons gauges the approximate period of the ship’s oscillating motion and lets go of the pillar while the floor is tilting—gravity flings him right to the console; his chest slams into the edge, and he’s instantly winded, but at least he’s in a position to program a few stabilizers—

The sickening swing of their flightpath—or, if it’s as Alfons fears, their _crashpath_ —settles to a slightly tamer, if still fairly violent, rocking. Back and forth they go, and Alfons’s stomach rises right as he finally catches his breath, which kind of figures.

“Bless you,” the Doctor says, hauling on a lever and then spinning a hand crank so fast that his fingers blur.  The TARDIS makes a mournful sort of grinding noise, and Alfons can’t help reaching out to flatten his hand on the curve of the time column in the center of the console.  Maybe it’s just friction, maybe it’s not; the glass is always warm.

They skid and jar their way to a bumpy halt, and the Doctor glances around in the way that Alfons knows by now is for counting companions and then counting their limbs.

“That was interesting,” Jack says.

Hughes’s glasses gleam as he stands and brushes himself off.  “We’re not actually the problem, are we, Doctor?”

“Something would’ve happened before now,” Alfons says slowly.  “We’ve been in close quarters enough lately that this must be something different.  Or something… extra.  A tipping point.”

The Doctor looks at him, half-pensive and half-sad, and strokes at the edge of the console.  “I’m withholding judgment ’til I get evidence,” the Doctor says, “but that theory’s… Well, if I was a betting man, that’s where I’d stack my money.”

“I can tell you’re not a betting man,” Jack says.

The Doctor frowns at him, raises an eyebrow at Alfons, grins with just the faintest hint of trepidation, and shoulders on his coat as he starts for the door.

Alfons grabs up the gorgeous tailored trenchcoat the Doctor bought him at a Third Regency-era marketplace on Eldova and runs to follow.

There’s—

Sprawled on the ground, propped up on his elbows, staring in disbelief, there’s—

— _Ed_.

Alfons doesn’t finish his step; doesn’t finish that breath; loses his train of thought forever and doesn’t miss it—doesn’t even notice that it’s gone.

“Wh… at,” Ed says blankly.

And then Alfons’s body finishes the step and the breath entirely without his brain’s permission; his heart’s running the show now, and he’s diving on Ed and dragging him up from the ground and hauling him into a hug so tight Ed squeaks, which just makes Alfons hold him tighter.

The initial shock doesn’t stop Ed for long, and then he’s hugging Alfons back so hard that both their spines crack—and the give and shape of his right arm has changed; how—?

Ed draws back with both hands clasping Alfons’s elbows, and under the glove that right hand is definitely firmer than it used to be.

“How?” Ed asks.

“It’s a long story,” Alfons says.

Ed’s eyes narrow.  _God_ , how could Alfons have memorized the color and still managed to forget how beautiful—?

“You’re speaking Amestrian,” Ed says slowly.

“I’m speaking German,” Alfons says.  He gestures to the TARDIS with his shoulder, which is the only body part he’s currently willing to shift even half an inch away from Ed.  “She translates.”

“Sh…” Ed stares for a long moment, and then he releases his grip on Alfons and circles the police box with a series of quick, sharp strides.  He nudges one corner with his artificial foot and then steps back, eyeing the welcoming glow of the interior that’s visible through the half-open door.

“Oh, dear,” Al—the other Alphonse, _Ed’s_ Alphonse—murmurs from off to the side, where he’s been standing so politely he’s been virtually invisible.

“No,” Ed says.  “No, no, no, no, n… o.  Nope.  Not… happening.”

“Let me guess,” the Doctor says, leaning back against the side and folding his arms with a grin.  “Physicist.”

“Alchemist,” Ed says.  “Equivalent exchange isn’t as powerful here, but the _principle_ is still the same—one for one.  Conservation of matter.  Newton knew it; everybody knows it; that is a _fact_.  You cannot do—” He gestures wildly and extremely unhelpfully to the ship, and Alfons’s heart tightens until the nostalgia just brims over.  “— _this_.”

“Can’t you?” the Doctor asks idly.  “I’ll just let the High Council know, then.  I imagine they’ll be a bit put out.”

Ed backs up until he’s about to collide with Al, who very patiently takes his left arm.

“Pinch me,” Ed says.

Al sighs and obliges.

“Harder,” Ed says.

Al shoots Alfons a long-suffering look and obliges again.

“ _Ow_ ,” Ed says.  “ _Crap_.  No, this’s—this’s got to be a dream; relativity doesn’t work like that, and—and Alfons, you _disappeared_.”

Alfons winces.

“Look who’s talking, Brother,” Al says.

Ed shakes his head until the end of his ponytail slaps his cheek.  “No, no, no.  Not real.”

That’s when Hughes steps out of the TARDIS, and Ed goes entirely still.

Hughes clears his throat and smiles hesitantly.  “Uh… hey!”

Stunned silence.  The Doctor watches with an arched eyebrow; Alfons follows the example and holds his peace.

Hughes swallows and attempts at a wider grin.  “You’re looking awfully short and warm-blooded, Al.”

Slowly, delightedly, Al cracks a smile.  “It’s—it is you.”

“Nope,” Ed chokes out.  “ _Nope_.”

“Aw, c’mon,” Hughes says.  “I know I’m pretty dreamy, but I’m not _literally_ a dream—”

Jack pushes Hughes out of the way and looks intently at Ed, then at Al, then at Alfons.  Then he cycles all the way back around, and then he bites his lip hard.

“If I say it,” he says, “will I get my TARDIS key-carrying privileges revoked foreve—”

“Yes,” the Doctor says.

“Don’t even _think_ about it,” Hughes says.  “Those boys helped deliver my daughter, and I would _die_ for them.”

“You essentially did,” Al says.

Ed makes a very, very unhappy sound in the back of his throat.

“No hard feelings!” Hughes says, waving his hands so enthusiastically that a picture of a particularly friendly Barcelonian dog slips out of his sleeve and flutters to the ground.

“Well,” the Doctor says to the Elrics.  “Glad we cleared that up. Fancy a trip?”

“Yes,” Al says.

“In _that_ thing?” Ed asks.

Alfons steps towards him and holds out a hand.  “You’ll like it,” he says.  “Trust me.”

Ed doesn’t hesitate before wrapping his warm fingers a little too tightly around Alfons’s hand.

“What the hell,” he says.  “If this is a dream, it’s a damn good one.”

Al sidles up and takes Ed’s other hand.  “And if it’s not?”

“All of time and space,” the Doctor says, buffing his fingernails on his lapel.

“No kidding,” Ed says slowly.

“Oh, lots of kidding,” Hughes says.  “Just not about that.”

“It’s gonna be pretty crowded in here,” Jack says sunnily.  “We might have to double up in bed.”

“We will do no such thing,” the Doctor says.  He sweeps an arm towards the door.  “Come on, everybody in.  In, in, in!  The longer we stay here, the more she has to strain to line things up.  This isn’t easy for her—come on!  Step lively, yeah?”

Alfons ushers the Elric brothers in before him and pauses as he helps the Doctor shut the doors.  “If it is so difficult—I mean, we’ve just crossed timelines that were meant to be tangent, haven’t we?  So why…” He takes a deep breath. “Why would the TARDIS put herself through that?”

The Doctor gazes at the console for a moment, teal refracting in his eyes, and then he turns to Alfons and winks.

“Means she likes you,” he says.  “So do the rest of us.”

Alfons doesn’t stop grinning until they crash on Raxacoricofallapatorius two days later.


End file.
